


let me feel your heartbeat (grow faster, faster)

by adelate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Begging, Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelate/pseuds/adelate
Summary: It had started so sweetly, with Aziraphale kissing Crowley reverently, moving down to his jaw, deft hands undressing Crowley like he was uncovering a work of art.





	let me feel your heartbeat (grow faster, faster)

**Author's Note:**

> So I woke up one morning thinking, say, Aziraphale and Crowley don't _need_ to sleep or eat... they could spend a pretty long time in bed if they wanted to. And then THIS HAPPENED. As always, thank you so much to Rikes for the beta read!

Crowley is losing his mind.

“Aren’t you lovely,” Aziraphale murmurs against Crowley’s skin, sliding his beautiful, steady, _clever_ fingers along Crowley’s thigh closer to where Crowley wants them. His hair is slightly mussed, and his cheeks are a delightful pink. He’s still wearing his suit, while Crowley is stretched out in front of him gloriously naked, cock twitching against his belly.

Crowley moans as Aziraphale’s nails scrape against his perineum. 

“Oh, dearest. You’re so very lovely like this,” Aziraphale breathes out. “Beautiful.”

Crowley’s hips buck up unintentionally, and Aziraphale grips his hip hard, pinning Crowley down against the mattress. Crowley’s mind goes a little hazy. 

“Angel, please, I need more, _Aziraphale_-” 

“It’s alright, dearest, I have you.”

Aziraphale slides his fingers lower, and either Crowley’s made an Effort or Aziraphale has, or maybe they both have, but Crowley is wet and Aziraphale’s fingers are slick sliding into him, and Crowley’s entire body strains with the effort not to move.

“Angel-” Crowley’s face is wet, too, and Aziraphale finally wraps his hand around Crowley’s cock. 

Crowley’s vaguely aware of Aziraphale’s words, praising him, sounding so loving and proud that Crowley feels like his heart may burst any second. There's a big part of him that rebels against kindness, but the urge to protest, to snap at Aziraphale, is growing smaller and smaller. It’s nearly nonexistent when he’s like this. 

Aziraphale strokes Crowley’s cock faster and Crowley’s breath catches in his throat. “Yessss,” he hisses, and if he were to give it any thought in the moment, he could be almost positive his eyes are fully yellow now. “Yesss, good, Azzziraphale-” Crowley feels drunk, he feels the pleasure begin to build up; he’s not even breathing anymore, if feels too good- 

Aziraphale stops abruptly and Crowley’s mind can’t comprehend it for a moment. “No, _no, no_-” His body tries to follow Aziraphale’s hands but he finds himself pinned down again. He tries to look at Aziraphale accusingly but it’s increasingly difficult to make his eyes focus. 

Aziraphale has already moved on to worshipping another part of Crowley’s body, teeth nipping on Crowley’s earlobe while he drags his nails across Crowley’s chest. 

“That was twelve, my dearest.”

It had started so sweetly, with Aziraphale kissing Crowley reverently, moving down to his jaw, deft hands undressing Crowley like he was uncovering a work of art. Crowley had come undone under Aziraphale’s hands and words in every way except by actually getting to come. Aziraphale had denied him _twelve times_ (Crowley had lost count but felt it was safe enough to trust Aziraphale on this). It’s the most exquisite torture, and Crowley Aziraphale’s eager and willing victim. 

Still, Crowley needs to come. He needs more or he will _actually_ lose his mind.

It takes him a moment of gulping air before he manages a pleading sound. “‘ziraphale, _please_, I need-”

Aziraphale shushes Crowley with an impossibly gentle kiss, and the next second his clothes are gone and his arms are bracketing Crowley.

“Spread your legs a bit for me; good, my dear, just like that, my clever, beautiful, _wonderful_ Crowley,” Aziraphale kisses Crowley again and Crowley spreads his legs even more, desperately hopeful.

Aziraphale rocks his hips into him and Crowley’s vision narrows, focusing only on how _full_ he feels, stretched and yielding and _amazing_. His entire world is focused on Aziraphale, his angel, how Crowley’s legs are hiked up high on his hips, their breaths, hot and heavy between them, and Aziraphale is so perfect, he feels _so good_-

Crowley can feel his orgasm building; his cock is slick between their bellies and the friction is so good Crowley sobs with it. 

He has the time for one horrified thought of Aziraphale stopping, and he’s pleading now, “Don’t stop, oh angel, don’t you dare stop, don’t stop, don’t, please,” just, he’s _so close_. 

Aziraphale isn’t stopping; Crowley can hear him right next to his ear, breathlessly telling Crowley how good Crowley is, how much he loves him, “my sweet, dear boy.”

Crowley’s vision whites out as his orgasm finally hits. It feels like it lasts for minutes, and Aziraphale keeps going throughout it, worshipping Crowley with his words and his body.

He doesn’t sleep, but it does take some time for Crowley to feel conscious again. Aziraphale is gently running a warm, damp washcloth over him, dropping gentle kisses on Crowley’s face and hair amid the endless praising words. Crowley’s chest feels uncomfortably tight, but it’s getting progressively easier to accept Aziraphale’s love for him. It had been harder at first than it had been to accept Crowley’s own love for Aziraphale. 

“It’d be easier to just miracle us clean,” Crowley says drowsily, and Aziraphale looks at him with such love.

“Oh- I know. I suppose I just like doing this for you,” he admits. “Do you mind terribly?”

Crowley lifts his hand to touch Aziraphale’s face. It’s just a fleeting, light brush of fingers, but Crowley feels like he’s just bared his soul. “No, angel,” he says, quietly, “‘course I don’t.”

Aziraphale’s expression brightens, and he finishes what he’s doing, unhurried, the way he is with everything he loves and appreciates. He does miracle _himself_ clean and, to Crowley’s chagrin, clothed (though at least not in his suit). Aziraphale’s pyjamas are a sartorial nightmare, as far as Crowley is concerned, but they’re also very Aziraphale, so Crowley doesn’t say anything and just shifts closer. 

Aziraphale’s fingers find their way into Crowley’s hair, rubbing so gently at his scalp and the nape of his neck. Crowley would object to being treated like a common household pet, but truthfully it feels far too nice to do any such thing.

“How, er- how do you feel? Was that-” Aziraphale pauses to find the right word, but possibly even the Georgette Heyer novels he’d memorized hadn’t covered this scenario, because he doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Mmm,” Crowley hums. “Perfect, angel.” He doesn’t say thank you, but they both know it’s implied, in the way Crowley’s more relaxed and languid, and the way he’s calling Aziraphale angel even more often than usual.

“I’m so glad,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley knows it’s true. Aziraphale could easily go an eternity without sex (so could Crowley, really, if it was just the physical side of it, but there’s something so good about dropping everything in Aziraphale’s hands for a bit and to trust him to handle everything), but he also loves making Crowley feel good. Crowley gets the same feeling, a bit, when he orders Aziraphale dessert after dinner. “Really very glad indeed.” Crowley hums in agreement, closes his eyes and immerses himself in the secret thrill of feeling loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale likes a baker's dozen.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :) Any comments you may have will be loved and cherished. ♥


End file.
